Commander Asher tried to squeeze in a last-ditch retort but he stopped short when it became clear that Greyson had ended the transmission.
Dr. DuVernay heard Grisham leaning forward quickly, hands flying to his controls. But Maestro beat him to it. Before the final radio crackle came, signifying that all parties had jumped off the freighter’s frequency, she had a countdown timer going on the main bridge screen - 29:58 and counting down.
"Thirty goddamn minutes," Asher said solemnly as he grabbed his transponder and radioed the Eclastica. "Captain Grisham, a meeting please?" the Commander growled.
The captain and his bridge crew soon joined Tira on the dais. She stayed to the side, intending to be an observer rather than a participant.
"No time for a fancy projection meeting," Asher said. By now, the intercoms had switched off. Only those on the command deck could hear now, through their earpieces.
"I understand," said Grisham, looking a bit relieved. "What do we do now?"
"What do we do?!," Asher asked rhetorically, with hints of pent-up fury in his voice. “We give up that goddamn cargo, that’s what we do."
“No. There… there has to be another way. He’s your friend Asher. You can talk to him,” Grisham offered, pacing with his arms folded behind his back. He looked rather manic. A bit bug-eyed.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you seri- Is he serious?!” Asher exclaimed.
"I can't afford to lose a shipment this large," Grisham snapped, coming to a stop and stomping one foot. “My uncle will kill me!”
“Greyson will fucking kill you! He’ll kill us all! And I don’t mean that figuratively, Captain!”
“But you can talk to him!”
“I already tried that genius! But that was before you had to butt in and piss him off. The man’s got a temper like you wouldn’t believe and he doesn’t like being disrespected. Talking to him like you did was literally the worst thing you could have done!”
“You need to call him again. Try to talk some sense into him Commander!” Asher ordered.
“Already tried that, Grisham! I have a private channel open but he’s not responding. Our only chance at survival is to give up the cargo.”
“No, there has to be another way. That cargo is our only bargaining chip. If we give it all up who’s to say they won’t destroy us anyway?”
"Dr. DuVernay," Commander Asher called out, which sent Tira’s heart into a frenzy. "Are you still around?"
"I’m here," Tira answered, garnering a dirty look from Grisham.
"Good. I think the Captain’s questionable decision making is putting all our lives at risk. I’d like to know your thoughts on—"
"How dare you, Asher!" Grisham roared. “You think I’m crazy, do you? Just because I refuse to make it rain with all our cargo before we’ve even gathered all the facts? He gave us thirty minutes? Why are you so anxious to give it all up right away? It’s like you don’t even want to consider any other possibilities. So how can we be sure that you and your little pirate buddy aren’t in on this together?!”
Damn… he’s got a point. Dr. DuVernay thought as she studied the furious captain. He sure seemed upset and certainly on edge but he didn’t quite seem certifiable in her expert opinion.
Grisham and Asher continued to shout at one another as Tira weighed her options. Her heart was racing due to the spike of adrenaline brought on by the ongoing commotion, but she remained surprisingly calm by relying on her crisis training and maintaining firm control over her breathing.
Thoughts? Tira typed out on her data slate, hoping that Maestro could offer some valuable input.
“There is a high probability that the pirate captain will destroy the freighter and its crew regardless of the amount of cargo they receive. Andre Greyson is presumed dead and therefore operates in perfect anonymity. In all likelihood he would seek to destroy the freighter and terminate you all in order to maintain that status quo. Based on the same I would advise against relinquishing the cargo at this time.”
"Commander," Dr. DuVernay interrupted. "Are you sure there's no other way to get out of this, other than just handing everything over?"
"Damn sure," Asher replied. "But I'm certainly open to suggestions if anybody has anything. Either way, we need to make up our minds soon."
Tira nodded. Discreetly, she tapped out another Maestro inquiry on her data slate.
Is Asher telling the truth?
The AI spoke into her ear, answering even as Tira finished typing.
"Bio-scans indicate that the Commander is omitting information. Perhaps lying outright. Perhaps he knows another way but considers it too risky to attempt. Or maybe he simply doesn't trust Grisham with the information."
Tira nodded. Then she lifted her data slate and quite conspicuously tapped a button that would allow Maestro to speak on the wide band.
"Perhaps we should consult the biggest brain we have," Tira said.
Grisham looked at her with a familiar level of disgust. But everyone else seemed receptive to the idea.
"Maestro," Tira said, "Can you please give us your thoughts on the best way to handle this situation?"
"Of course," the AI's sardonic voice replied in all of their ears. "I have determined a specific course of actions with a high probability of success. However, such actions would require the use of the illegal rail gun equipped by the Axis, the escort convoy's principle assault craft."
If Asher's projection had been in residence, it might have gone very pale just then.
Grisham grinned. "What do you have to say about that, Commander?"
"Not much," Asher replied, conveying total confidence. "Just that such weapons are more effective when they are a surprise, considering their slow rate of fire. And they are exponentially less likely to be a surprise with each person that knows about them."
"I detect no sign of obfuscation in the Commander's voice," Maestro said.
"I was much more of a boy scout back when I worked for Greyson," Asher explained, "As far as he knows, I'm still a straight and narrow company man who’d never take the chance of getting caught with an illegal ship mod. Chances are he’ll never see the rail gun coming."
"Unless he's still listening," Grisham said breathlessly. "Are we sure he really left the frequency?"
"We're sure," Maestro confidently confirmed. "The existence of the rail gun provides an advantage. This advantage may enable us to escape with our cargo and our lives. But only if things are done precisely according to my instructions. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge the complete set of steps for this best-case scenario, as a part of my plan involves a classified location."
Sighs were heard all around, even over the wide band from Asher's crew.
"Damn it," Grisham said. "What good are AIs, anyway?"
"We're only as good as you allow us to be," Maestro replied.
"It's alright," Asher said. "I think I know what she's talking about. There’s a military installation on the moon. That has to be it. It’s a black site. Basically Area 51 on steroids. We actually passed pretty close to their datasphere on the way out to the belt. I haven't been there since my military days, but I still have my security clearance for consulting purposes. Maybe that can help us initiate contact and possibly dock if we can actually make it there.”
"What do you know about this base?" Grisham asked. "Anything that can help us figure out this best-case scenario?"
"I haven’t been there in ages. Any info I still remember is probably ancient by now. But Maestro seems to know plenty. We just need to figure out how to get it out of her..."
Tira smiled.
"Maestro," she said. "I'm granting you permission to divulge whatever information you have regarding our chances of survival."
"Your clearance has been recognized," Maestro said. "Please recite these words precisely as they appear on your data slate..."
Tira read the words. "Apple. Paramount. Exterior. Carapace. Rapidity."
Maestro cross-checked these words, as well as the way Tira
said them, with her original clearance file where she had provided voice samples.
"Your clearance and identity have been confirmed," Maestro said, in the bored tone of a service worker who has to recite the same pleasantries day in and day out.
Meanwhile, Captain Grisham was staring at Dr. DuVernay with his mouth open and his eyes almost falling out of his head.
“That should do it. So, what’s the plan, Maestro?” the Doctor asked, without acknowledging the Captain’s nasty glare.
Without missing a beat, Maestro spoke. "The rail gun is a kinetic weapon of astounding strength," she said. "Normally, a medium class assault ship such as the Axis would not be able to carry it. But the Axis has been outfitted with a special, modified hard point for—”
“Can we skip ahead to the good part? We all know what a rail gun can do,” Captain Grisham scoffed.
"Of course,” Maestro replied. “The Phantom's Paradise is an exceedingly formidable ship. Its highly fortified hull strength is on par with that of a tank, however, it is also most likely the fastest combat vessel in the Solar System due to its heavy modifications. But speed requires energy, as does the ship’s weapons and deflector shields. Given the mass of the Phantom’s Paradise, it’s high-end energy weapons, and top speed capabilities, and its overall power output capacity, I have calculated that the vessel cannot maintain top speed or sustained energy attacks, and maximum shields at the same time. Chances are they will prioritize speed and firepower over shields which will provide a significant vulnerability”
“So we get them on the move… get them fighting… wait for them to drop their shields and then hit them with the rail gun?” Commander Asher asked.
“Precisely,” Maestro confirmed.
"Not bad,” Asher said. “That might actually work. We’d still be outnumbered but with the Phantom off the playing field we’d at lease have a fighting chance.”
“How does the moon base fit into the equation?” Captain Grisham grumbled, obviously upset at having to rely on the AI for advice.
“Our convoy should flee towards the moon base. We’ll have to use some of the Commander’s strike crafts to penetrate the pirates’ umbrella formation. Whatever ships are left can continue protecting the freighter. The Phantom will know where we're going. My scans of their data sphere indicate they are aware of the moon base. They'll most likely give chase. If they do not, then we're free. If they pursue us, we accelerate to our top speed. The pirates will have to divert power from their shields to keep pace, by which time a single well-place rail gunshot should disable them long enough for the convoy to reach safety."
Grisham was staring at the timer, licking his lips.
"Can we make a run for Earth instead?" he asked.
"There is a narrow possibility that we would make it that far," Maestro said. "Too narrow to be recommendable. The Phantom would probably repair itself and run us down before we could reach Earth. Even getting to the moon in time will be difficult."
"Is there anything else?" Asher asked.
"Not at the moment, but as I observe the coming events, I will be able to build a predictive model that will provide greater accuracy to future calculations. For now, I cannot tell you exactly how the fleet will react. Once we begin fleeing, it will be mostly up to you and your fighters. However, I will certainly help wherever I can."
A moment passed. Grisham continued to pace, whispering to himself. His crew watched, pale with fear. Paralyzed by it.
Asher's projection appeared suddenly. He was holding a coffee. By the number of drip stains on the side of it, he had been using this same cup profusely all day. His formerly stiff and starched suit jacket was gone, revealing a sweat-stained undershirt. Despite his comparatively disheveled state, his face was as stoic and calm as ever. With a slight frown, he looked up at the timer. Tira followed his gaze, and was shocked by how much time had gone already.
"Well," Asher said, "for what it's worth, I'm entirely willing to try Maestro's plan. How about you, Grisham?"
"If it will allow us to get home with our shipment," Grisham said, "I'm fine with it."
As though on cue, one of Asher's crew said, "Another handshake coming through."
"Let's hear it," said Asher. "Greyson, is that you?"
"Sure is. Ash, I hope you've noticed that you're running out of time. This is your final warning. In five minutes, either I will be rich or you will be dead. Or both. Up to you."
"Keep your panties on," said Asher, "you'll be hearing from us real soon. We're just getting our affairs in order in case this goes sour."
"Come on, man. I'm a pirate, not a mass-murderer," Greyson said with a chuckle. "As long as I get my stuff, I don't care what happens to you. Die today or live forever. Doesn't matter to me."
The crackle came again. Maestro confirmed that Greyson was no longer on their band.
"Three minutes left," Grisham said. "Three minutes to figure out whether we live or die."
"Or die trying to live," Asher replied.
"Follow my plan," Maestro said, "and you will maximize your chances of survival. Even giving the cargo over is not a guarantee. There is a high probability that the pirate captain will seek to destroy this convoy at all costs in order to protect his anonymity.”
"She's right," Commander Asher admitted with a sigh. “It pains me to say it but she’s right. As long as we’re alive Greyson’s secret wouldn’t be safe. He’s probably planning on killing us anyway.”
“Let’s do it,” Captain Grisham said confidently. “Let’s go for the moon base.”
"Aye-aye," said Asher, looking a bit surprised that he and Grisham had found common ground.
"We don’t have any time to waste," Grisham said. "Everyone, back to your stations. DuVernay, stick around if you don’t mind. That robot might come in handy."
“She is not a robot, Grisham,” Dr. DuVernay scolded.
“Well, whatever she is… we need her help,” the Captain begrudgingly admitted. “Can you make sure she’s available, please?”
"I will plot out and enact the maneuvers of the freighter," Maestro said. "But clearing the way through the pirate bubble will be in the hands of Commander Asher's team."
"We'll get it done," Asher said firmly. "Let's go."
CHAPTER 10
◆◆◆
Andre Greyson sat back in his rickety old chair. It squeaked and complained as he swiveled around. He would have to make sure and take whatever cushy thing this idiot Grisham was sitting in. A fresh seat. A perfect way to begin the next phase of the Phantom's lucrative existence.
Already, Greyson was planning out what he would do with this haul. People used to throw out phrases like "the skies the limit", but they were outdated. Now, the limits were somewhere out beyond the stars. Greyson called himself a lot of things over the years. He mostly thought of himself as a pioneer.
The civilization he had left behind was terminal. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy of idiocy and stagnation. Everyone was afraid to take the next step, to really see what humankind could do... but not Greyson. Now, all he needed was the raw material to stock up on fuel and food. Then he could see what the Phantom was really capable of.
"How much time?" he asked.
"Ninety seconds," said his first mate, a slender former military flight commander named Quade.
Greyson sighed, leaning forward in his seat. Through the Phantom’s viewing bubble, he saw the Eclastica’s convoy drifting along lazily at the same speed and relative distance as before. For the first time, he wondered whether he could extend the deadline. He didn't care whether the people in this convoy died, but he did care what happened to the stuff they were holding. It would be so much easier for him to take the cargo and then kill them afterward. That way he could ensure that the goods remained intact. Maybe he would consider letting Asher live. Maybe… he still hadn’t really made up his mind yet.
"What are they even doing?" he asked, glancing at the timer again. Seventy seconds. Seventy seconds until they called his
bluff or were wiped out of existence.
"Nothing, it seems," said Quade.
"Alright, Emmanuel Grisham," Greyson whispered. "You want to play games? Well, I don't. Weapons hot, boys! Let’s do this!"
Just as Quade and his other two officers were preparing to ready their ship’s weapons, a warping artifact appeared in space between the fleet and the convoy. It was like a puddle into which a stone had just been cast, calm one moment and shimmering in confused ripples the next. A sign that the freighter, and the other ships too, had just enacted a severe acceleration.
By the time the ripples cleared, Greyson could no longer see the freighter or any of the remaining assault ships. Alarms were sounding, and a quick look told Greyson that several of his SLFs had just been destroyed.
Quade shot him a surprised look. A look that demanded orders.
Greyson just sat back and laughed. "Bold move. Must have been Asher’s call. Let's give them a head start, boys and girls. Might as well be sporting about it. How about... sixty seconds? Then we'll run them down. Bring the rest of the fighters in, too. Make sure their ready for relaunch once we’re back on top of these suckers..."
Quade set a new timer. Greyson watched it fall toward zero, his smile turning to a grin as it spread over his face.
"Anything on their trajectory?" he asked.
"From the looks of it, they're heading for the moon, Sir."
"Well," said Greyson, "Asher's a little smarter than I remember. If we let them reach the moon, they'll be in military territory. We won't be able to get them."
"We'll just have to catch them before that, Sir."
"That's the spirit," Greyson cheered, staring at the timer.
When it hit zero, he clapped his hands together sharply.
"Full burn, boys!" he said excitedly. "Let's put the fear of god into these sons of bitches!"
CHAPTER 11
◆◆◆
Sergeant Stiles, the hulking commanding officer aboard the assault ship Black Mirror, was feeling moderately hopeful. For one, he'd just been able to fulfill his dream of popping a few of this pirate bastard's ship-launched fighters. Secondly, the convoy was getting away. It was hard to see past the ripple effect of ion acceleration, but the Phantom almost looked like it was standing still. Getting further away with each second.
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